


Metamorphosis

by ponyponynay



Category: Actor RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponyponynay/pseuds/ponyponynay
Summary: Tom, a wizard, left the magical world and lived as a Muggle for 13 years. Until he met Chris. Then he had to start confronting the ghosts of his past.





	1. The day Tom ran out of food

Tom sighed quietly as he let go of the pantry door. It soon shut on its own accord, leading to a blunt sound ringing throughout the flat. Still, Tom stood there, staring at the closed pantry door, which contained basically nothing, as though that was going to somehow conjure up food inside. He reckoned it was that time again.

Tom had to go grocery shopping. One could only subsist on jelly babies for so long.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, though there isn’t any audience. 

That wouldn’t be as big of a deal to any regular old Muggle wandering about London. But for Tom, it was an errand reserved for only the most dire of situations. He obsessively avoided contact with the outside world, keeping entirely to himself in his upstairs flat, and for good reason; the risk of being found out is too great elsewhere. He kept all windows tightly shut with blackout draperies blocking every ray of sun.

Such is life for someone who perpetually lives on the run, Tom reckons. After 13 years of running and hiding, he’s become quite nonchalant about it, but at times, it bothers him too – mostly in the form of nightmares and cold sweats. And sometimes, he misses what he left behind way too much for his own comfort.

Ubiquitous magic. Love. Mother. Sisters. Butterbeer…

It had been 13 years since Tom had left the magical world and his loved ones behind in exchange for freedom and more importantly, his life. He thought himself a Muggle now. He hid all that made him a wizard and burned or stashed away everything magical. Good things were better left hidden in the darkest, deepest corner of nowhere, he believed. Otherwise, they get destroyed.

Confronted with death, or worse, a life not worth living, Tom had first fled to France, where he wandered around as a vagrant for more than two years. Living on the streets was preferable compared with living in the presence of his monstrous father, an unabashed Muggle-hater who was once responsible for a campaign as Minister for Magic that killed nearly 3,000 Muggles who, according to him, threatened the prosperity and purity of the magical world. The reality was much different, of course. 

His father, James Hiddleston, had taken to calling himself Nefario. (Perhaps Baddie McBadsen or Evil Canevil was taken already.) And worst of all, he proclaimed to have invented a potion that would cure all Muggle-loving, which he forced Tom to drink on more than a handful of occasions. It made Tom and whoever else had the misfortune of drinking it vomit blood for hours, taking him to the boundaries bordering death and life each time. 

The Elder Hiddleston held on dearly to the power he held as Minister for Magic and wielded it to wreak havoc. He established a registry of half bloods and Muggleborns, a venture that Voldemort-era Death Eaters failed to finish two decades ago. 

The truth is, though, James Hiddleston was never a brilliant wizard by any means. He was never as powerful as Voldemort, though the political power he wields may transcend that of Voldemort. James Hiddleston was a middling wizard at best, but he did have a rare talent for getting those more brilliant than him to do his bidding for him. He was a true politician, and did not need to inspire fear to make people do what he wanted. And his nefarious agenda pushed the boundaries of the unspeakable. 

Tom sank into his armchair, pushing away the traumatic memories attempting to creep up into his mind. He’d better get on with buying food. Otherwise, he’d waste his precious life he worked so hard to preserve for the past 13 years and starve to death. 

He grabbed a shirt and stashed his wand – in case of emergencies, such as one where his father’s foot soldiers coming after him in a Sainsbury’s – in a secret pocket he’d sewn onto the inside of every single pair of trousers he owns. Some, if they knew him, would call him paranoid, but being on the run comes at the price of constant vigilance and perhaps, an unhealthy degree of paranoia. 

The truth is that he hasn’t had a close call or a reasonable suspicion in at least a decade. Sure, he’d run into a handful of wizards and witches here and there -- it’s impossible not to in London. But the last time he’d truly felt like one of his father’s people was after him was when he was still in France. That was too long ago. 

Yet, he didn’t want to take any chances. 

When Tom walked into Sainsbury’s, he decided that he would give himself no more than half hour to load up on a month’s worth of groceries. The infrequent trip to the store usually meant that he’d taken to eating things that are mostly in cans or boxes. Fresh produce could be enjoyed exclusively during the first week after shopping. 

Within five minutes or less, his cart was already full of stuff – mostly junk food and lots of it. And as he pondered over boxed beef stroganoff or alfredo or both, he casually glimpsed at a towering man, who was standing to his right, carefully examining a can opener. It was a momentary glimpse and Tom looked away soon, but when it registered to Tom that the man was in an especially peculiar attire, he unintentionally gazed at the man again.

This man was obviously a wizard, Tom thought. No Muggle would ever wear such a ghastly robe -- it had one too many inexplicable flaps. But for some reason, the man’s wizardly attire didn’t immediately trigger Tom’s internal alarm. 

The man, who was dressed in a red velvet robe embroidered with excessive golden strings, noticed Tom’s thorough but somewhat mindless gaze. And when their gazes met, the man smiled big and said, “Excuse me. Would you tell me what this is used for?” It appeared that the man was not suspecting of Tom’s identity. 

That smile was so big and so unassuming. What does he think he’s doing here, Tom scoffed in his mind. How could a wizard recklessly walk into a Muggle grocery shop and inquire around about a bloody can opener? But when Tom opened his mouth to speak, anxiety, and not disdain, was what came out. 

Nervously, Tom replied, “Err… Opening a can.” 

“A can? But why would one do that?” he asked again. “What’s in a can?”

Right, Tom thought. Processed food isn’t that common in the magical world. It would seem silly to store mushrooms or spaghetti in a can and stuff it with preservatives when a simple preservation spell would do. Tom could see why a device like the can opener can seem puzzling. 

He, too, had moments when he had freshly entered life as a fake Muggle. Thank Merlin he found use of the Internet, which was truly magical in its own way. ‘Who said Muggles lacked imagination?’ Tom remembered thinking to himself. Without Wikipedia, he’d have been truly lost. 

So for a minute there was that feeling of solidarity, but when the man decided he’d follow Tom to the next corridor and began using Tom as his personal Siri (not that the man would have any idea what that was) to ask about the uses and names of this or that, including several kitchen utensils and deodorant, Tom grew a little nervous.

“And what could this possibly be used for?” the man asked for the umpteenth time, holding up a battery-operated milk frother in Tom’s face. “Ah! Is it one of those devices that ladies use to curl their hairs?”

Gently pushing away the man’s hand, Tom shook his head. Then the man went on to fidget with the milk frother, which ended up with him accidentally pushing the ‘on’ button and turning it on. When the frother began buzzing loudly, the wizard exclaimed, “This is magical!” 

Then all of a sudden, the man came down from his excitement and walked up closer to Tom, as if he were going to whisper. And he did, asking, “I don’t mean to be cheeky, but is this what the Muggles, um, I mean people, use to.... You know, pleasure themselves?” 

If it hadn’t been quite blatant before, now it truly was. The man was clearly a wizard.

Tom had more than a handful of run-ins with witches and wizards in London and elsewhere, sometimes totally harmless exchanges of hellos or asking how to get to the station and that. They really were everywhere, even in the Muggle world. But Tom did his very best to keep composure and maintain his best Muggle appearance. That usually worked out fairly well.

Then a realization hit Tom like a brick. Why was this guy following him around? Well, that became blatant too, sort of. This man must have been sent by his father to capture him and bring him back home, where he would be tortured again, he thought.  

As much as Tom realized, at least in the back of his head, how absurd and paranoid that thought was, he couldn’t help but quickly ditch his shopping cart and bolt toward the exit. He couldn’t prolong contact with a wizard. Any exposure to the wizarding world put him at risk of being found by his father. This smiling hunk of a man might well be one of his father’s death-eating thugs.

He ran as if he were actually being chased, when in reality, the man simply stood there, puzzled at how he’d managed to scare Tom off. Perhaps it was the sexual comment he made regarding one of those Muggle devices. As he watched Tom bolt out the grocery store exit, the man scratched his head and puckered his lips. Muggles sure were so strange, he thought. 

When Tom reached the alleyway next to the Sainsbury’s, he took several sharp breaths as he scrutinized his surroundings. It soon became clear that no one was nearby, save for the elderly blind lady navigating the streets with her stick. Then without hesitating, Tom apparated. 

Within seconds, he was within the walls and safety of his own flat, where he finally rested his back against the wall and slid all the way down to the floor. He was hyperventilating, sort of in disbelief that he had risked himself some more by apparating. He was fairly certain that the ministry had a way of keeping track of witches and wizards apparating.

‘I should not have done that,’ he thought. Though there was no way of turning back time to change what he did, not without a time-turner at least. 

His breathing became more stable as minutes passed by. And as he reflected the series of unfortunate events that transpired on this grocery trip, which included not actually having returned with anything edible, the mysterious wizard also inevitably populated his thoughts. 

As much as Tom didn’t want to admit, the man’s smile was nice. He obviously needed to get laid – usually, it took more than a nice smile to get him going. 


	2. Square One

Even while knowing that nothing is inside, Tom couldn’t help but open his pantry for the third time this morning. He’d eaten his last remaining ramen last night and there was truly nothing left to eat in his flat. Clearly, he should have apparated to another Sainsbury’s on the other side of town, rather than back to his flat. What’s done is done, though.

  
Tom was craving something solid and savory, maybe flesh of some sort of animal. His body craved protein desperately – he was starting to get a sharp headache. And the worst travesty of all, there was no more coffee in the flat.

  
Oh coffee. What an incredible achievement for Mugglekind it was to discover how to harvest those beans and think to roast them, Tom thought for a second. And then he started thinking about how probably stupid it was to run from that wizard. But he quickly shook his head. It was clearly the right choice to get away from him.

  
Then he allowed his paranoia to get the better of him again. Perhaps he needed to move, maybe somewhere farther this time. Why was he so naive to think that he could stay in London for the rest of his life?

  
His thoughts were interrupted by a queasy feeling accompanied by a loud growling noise from his stomach. Move or don’t move. First, he needed to eat.

  
So there he was again at the same Sainsbury’s, because he isn’t creative or he is too lazy to walk several more blocks to another store, browsing the deli section with his right hand taking custody of his nearly-full cart. And as he approached the counter to grab a tin of potato salad, he saw a vaguely familiar figure on the periphery of his sight.

  
‘The fuck,’ Tom thought. It was that man again. From yesterday.

  
If it weren’t evident before, it was now. Tom was being followed.

  
“Oy. You’re the bloke from yesterday! Why did you run?” asked the unsuspecting golden stranger.

  
Seeing the man, who was wearing another hideous outfit of purple and gold, smile at him prompted Tom to ditch his cart once more, but this time, the man managed to grab him by the arm, yelling “Wait!” as Tom tried desperately to pull away.

  
Strangely enough, their squabble did not attract the attention of unsuspecting Muggle shoppers in the aisle. Looking left and right, and knowing he won’t win this tug of war, Tom decided to do the inevitable: He apparated with the stranger in tow. Should this man turn out to be a spy for his father, this encounter would not end quietly.

  
Within seconds, Tom and the stranger appeared on a hillside where the grass danced with the breeze. Behind a panting Tom was a house built of stones, seemingly unoccupied.

  
As his feet touched the grass below, Tom drew in a quick breath and turned his eyes to the stranger, who was still grabbing his arm.

  
“Whoa,” the man exclaimed. “Where the devil are we?”  
“Scotland,” Tom replied.

  
Tom had never imagined that he would ever come back to this place. But in a pinch, he couldn’t think of any other place than here. The alternative, obviously, was to apparate to his flat but he could not take the risk of bringing a stranger -- a possible spy, no less -- to his living quarters.

  
So there they were; in a place where the last beautiful memory of family originated from. Oh how wonderful it was to wake up feeling the breeze and to the chatter of his sisters yapping on about this and that while mother was in the kitchen wielding her wand to make the kitchen gadgets do their thing and father was enchanting Christmas gnomes to dance above the fireplace.

  
Then Tom quickly snapped out of his daydreaming, realizing his arm was still in custody of the other man, who stared at him with puzzled eyes and rightfully so. He quickly pulled his arm away and stepped back, drawing his wand from the secret pocket of his trousers.

  
“Who are you and why are you following me?” Tom growled at him.   
“I’m not following you. I was only curious,” he replied.   
“What is your name, wizard? Who sent you?” Tom continued to interrogate.  
“What do you mean who sent me? Who would send for you? Who are you?” The man asked in response.   
“I asked first. Who are you?”  
“I’m Chris.” Then the man quietly extended his hand, as though he was inviting a handshake. Tom did not reciprocate.

  
It is a mystery to Tom how minutes later, he ended up sitting next to the stranger, Chris, and sharing a candy bar with him. Oh wait, his stomach began growling and demanding food during the confrontation and the monstrous sound echoed, reaching the ear drums of the purple-robed man, who went for his pocket. For a minute, Tom thought the man would draw his wand and a duel was imminent, but instead of drawing his wand, the man pulled out a candy bar he acquired at the very same Sainsbury’s. That’s what happened.

  
It turns out the strange wizard is a tourist from Australia, asked by some friends of his to bring back British candy. Tom was simply too hungry to refuse.

  
Tom let the man ramble on while he munched on the candy bar, perhaps showing a little too much fervor in making sure every little bit ended up in his mouth, giving Chris an impression that he’d been starving for days. Chris went on about his home in Australia and how he’d grown up poor but loved his family. He said he had two brothers, one older and the other, younger. Their names were Luke and Liam. Tom flinched a little at the name, ‘Luke’ but pretended to be nonchalant.

  
Chris also talked about the biggest magic school in Australia. It was in Sydney, and he went there, where he was a Quidditch captain for four years. His brother, Luke was head boy. He said he explored the idea of becoming a professional Quidditch player, but ended up choosing to become an Auror for the Australian Ministry of Magic.

  
“I’m taking a temporary job at Hogwarts. Do you know it?” Chris asked. “I’ll be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year while Professor Motchkins is away.”

  
Hogwarts. ‘Don’t I know it,’ Tom thought to himself. But he did not say anything in response, nor did he gesture to indicate yes or no. He was grateful for the candy bar, but he wasn’t about to spill his life story to the stranger. For all he knew, Chris could still be a spy for his father, though the likelihood of that diminished exponentially with each passing second.

  
The truth is that Tom did know Hogwarts, and held nothing but extremely fond memories of his seven years there, when he was part of the Slytherin House. At Hogwarts, he grew his dream of becoming a magical beasts researcher and shared the sweetest first kiss with his lover, Luke. The young couple promised to spend all the remaining days of their lives together once they graduated -- a dream that never came true.

  
Memories flooded in without Tom’s consent. He remembered the nights when he and Luke would sneak into the restricted section of the library in search for ‘explicit material.’ He also remembered lounging around in the common room, enchanting little bits of trash to fly into younger students’ book bags. And then there were the nights when he and Luke would sneak into the Shrieking Shack to have a quiet moment to themselves…

  
Chris quietly observed Tom’s face as he took a trip down the memory lane. He found Tom to be quite strange, but so intriguing at the same time. Realizing Chris’s gaze, Tom snapped out of it and quickly rose up to his feet. It was time to go back. And get away from this man, who triggered deeply hidden away memories -- good and bad -- to sneak out and invade his mind.

  
“I imagine you can find your own way back,” Tom said. And before Chris could reply, Tom disappeared into thin air.

  
Chris sat still, dumbfounded and still staring at where Tom was standing just seconds ago. ‘What in the hell just happened?’ he thought. Still, he found the raven-haired wizard to be most curious.


	3. The not-owl

When a small red owl arrived at his window days later, Tom nearly had a seizure.

 

He’d put on a protective charm around his flat, combined with a powerful Confundus charm that disoriented magical creatures. It was specifically aimed at owls finding their way to Tom and alerting his father of his whereabouts.

 

But this was no ordinary owl, though. And as Tom cradled the bird and reached for the note tied to its right leg, he realized it wasn’t an owl at all.

 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, as he took a closer look at the bird. “It’s a baby Phoenix.”

 

No wonder it found its way through the layers of protective spells, Tom thought. Phoenixes possessed incredibly powerful magic and exceeded human intelligence. It baffled Tom infinitely that a beautiful baby Phoenix such as this one would be used to deliver mail and at the same time, he was dead curious to know how the sender owned a Phoenix (it’s not generally possible to domesticate them) and had managed to train it.

 

When curiosity started to fade, fear and sadness kicked in. He could think of only one person who’d be desperate enough to enlist a Phoenix to find him. It must be his father, finally getting at him. If he steps into this trap, Tom would be taken away and nightmare would repeat.

 

Tom opened the envelope, half expecting a Howler, in which he found a charming note featuring handwriting that could easily be mistaken for a child’s scribble. “How about a drink with me at the Leaky Cauldron?” the letter said, stating the time and day. It was signed by Chris, the curious stranger from Sainsbury’s with whom Tom shared a sugary treat on the windy hills.

 

Tom’s cheeks bloomed red.

 

He had been thinking about the large man, inevitably. Tom reckoned it’s because he hadn’t been laid in a while (or maybe a little more than a while) and there was no debating the man’s good looks and charming manners. Tom worked as an editor for a publishing company in the Muggle world, a job that allowed him to remain mostly anonymous and behind closed doors, and he’d been dealing with a deadline in the last few months, making it near-impossible for Tom to have a spare second to browse for casual, anonymous sex.

 

Days later, hours before he was supposed to start heading to the Cauldron, if he were to make it, Tom was having a tremendous internal struggle over to go, or not. He wasn’t supposed to be torn at all; evidently, this is a risk not worth taking. But he couldn’t help that he very much wanted to.

 

When was it that he last spent his time in the company of another wizard? Years. When did he last visit Leaky Cauldron for a nice pint of Butterbeer? Too long.

 

Tom’s mind kept going back and forth between tasting the sweetness of magic in the air, which made him nostalgic for home, and the dungeon in the basement of his childhood home, where he was locked up by his father and guarded by Death Eaters.

 

When Tom left Hogwarts, he’d announced to his family that he and Luke, who was not only his best friend but also a lover, were going to travel around the world and study magical creatures. Then he’d probably write a book and one day, if he’s lucky, teach at Hogwarts. But his father had different plans for him, and certain not one that involves a Muggleborn gay lover.

 

James, his father, had always disapproved of Luke, as Luke was Muggleborn. And at this news, James decided it would be best course of action to confine his son in the dungeon and force-feed what he thought would cure his Muggle-loving.

 

Tom was imprisoned for more than three months, during which he had no contact with Luke or anyone else. They had promised to meet at King’s Cross on a certain and when Tom didn’t show, Luke thought himself abandoned. Tom’s mother and two sisters cried and begged for Tom to be released, but James was adamant. That boy was unnatural in every way, and for the good of Wizardry, he had to be cured, he said.

 

It was his house elf who came to the rescue. Diddles was always especially loyal to Tom, though he was magically bound to obey all witches and wizards. Diddles and Tom's mother conspired to get Tom out of the dungeon and as Tom left, he saw the elf being struck by a stream of green light and his body dissolving mid-air. He also heard his mother scream but she forbid him to look back. “Go, my son. And never come back,” she told him.

 

Tom can still hear her scream. The screeching voice haunted him everyday for years. Now, it just comes on the worst of days and he wakes, sweaty and crying accompanied by an incredible sense of guilt for having left his sisters and mother behind. At times he felt so guilty that he wanted to die.

 

Still curled up on the chair, Tom clutched the note brought to him by the baby Phoenix, tearing up just a bit at the thought of his weary mother. He looked at the handwriting studiously, with competing forces whispering in his ears that going would be a very bad idea, or that it would be the best idea he’s had in a while and what were the chances that he’d be discovered? Then it dawned on him. He had a secret supply of Polyjuice potion hidden somewhere in the flat.

 

He opened up a chest, hidden underneath his bed in a satchel he’d put an Undetectable Extension Charm on. Dust splattered everywhere as the lid to the chest shot up and Tom dug up dusty vials containing the odd-coloured liquid and sniffed it. Instantly, he frowned. Was it supposed to smell like that?

 

So he’s got the potion, but he was missing the most important part. He had to have a little bit of someone else to transform into them. Nobody had ever visited him at the flat, so there’s no chance of another’s hair or something flying around and that was just too risky. So that resulted in Tom sneaking into his neighbor John’s flat and grabbing a chunk of brown hair scattered on a pillow. Hopefully this belongs to a person and not an animal, he thought.

 

When Tom stepped out of a fireplace in Diagon Alley, he was disguised as John, his middle-aged neighbour who lived alone in the flat next to Tom’s and watched too much television. John had a bit of a beer gut and really bad knees, Tom realized. They hadn’t spent too much time together at all. Exchanges between Tom and John were limited to nodding when running into each other once in a blue moon.

 

As he got closer to Leaky Cauldron, Tom started to feel self-conscious, afraid, excited and anxious all at the same time. He didn’t fancy looking like John, who could not possibly be described as attractive, and he was scared to death, while ecstatic, to re-enter the magical world and expose himself. His heart hurt a bit at the thought of his sisters and mother, who could be wandering around Diagon Alley right now, if his father hadn’t done any harm to them. What would he do, or say, if he ran into them? He’d probably just run away again, he thought.

 

“Hey mate, you coming in?” Tom heard a man say to him, as he held the door for Tom. It was an older wizard with a pointy hat and dusty robes. Tom jolted back into reality and nodded, carefully stepping inside the Leaky Cauldron for the first time in about 13 years.

 

Tom was wondering if he’s walking into his own grave by doing this, but when he sees Chris downing a pint as he sat in a corner booth on his own, he couldn’t help but melt a little bit. Out of instinct, he raised his hand, as though he was going to wave hello or something. But realizing that he’s John now, or at least is in John’s form, Tom quickly withdrew his hand and quietly walked toward Chris.

  
And when he arrived and Chris looked up at him, sort of puzzled, Tom just said, “It’s me.”


	4. Want to be friends

Tom thought he might actually be insane. 

 

All these years of loneliness had taken a toll on him, and he’d finally gone mad. Otherwise, why would he have ended up in Chris’s company again? 

 

Yet, here he was, sitting on a fancy chair made of oak at the house that Chris claimed to be “borrowing for a while” from some Muggles who are off in the Seychelles or something. Chris buzzed around the dining area, opening every cabinet to look for two mugs. He quickly grew tired of manual labor and yelled, “Accio mugs!” which ended up being totally disastrous, as more than a dozen mugs came flying at him. Were it not for Tom, who swiftly muttered “Arresto momentum,” those mugs would have been in pieces. Not that that couldn’t be reversed.

 

The simple truth is that Tom had a really nice time with Chris at the Leaky Cauldron a week before. It was mostly Chris making commentary about strange Muggle stores or how London was different from Melbourne, where he’s from. They had some Butterbeers and Chris asked why he was in disguise, but Tom didn’t say. And Chris noticed Tom seizing up, so he didn’t push further and proceeded to talk about having visited some tourist spots in London and being worried about the upcoming semester at Hogwarts. What if the kids hate him? 

 

On their way out, Tom did notice known Death Eaters and supporters of his father wandering around Diagon Alley. He’d flinch when he made eye contact with one of them, but other than looking generally menacing and mean, they didn’t seem to notice anything odd about Tom disguised as neighbor John. He did notice that they seemed to be wearing matching outfits and wearing a symbol that looked sort of like a pentagram. 

 

Knowing that his disguise was working was comforting to Tom, which probably made him a little bit brave when responding to another note from Chris delivered to the flat by baby Phoenix, whose name, Tom later learned, was Munches. (What a vile name for such a beautiful creature, Tom thought.) The story was that Chris rescued Munches from a degenerate wizard who hoarded magical creatures and bound them with torture spells a while back. Munches has been following him ever since, and even followed him here to England. 

 

This time, Tom was invited to visit a Muggle residence in the suburbs, where Chris was supposedly crashing until it was time to get on the train for Hogwarts. Tom let his Polyjuice potion wear out. He’d take another gulp of that awful goo before he journeys back to his South London flat, but for now, he felt like settling in just a bit and enjoying the warmth of his own skin, rather than John’s thick beer belly. 

 

It was pouring outside as Chris successfully made tea and brought the mugs to the table. Tom was mindlessly staring out the window, listening to the midsummer shower and tuning into the thunderstorm. Instead of choosing the seat across from Tom, Chris sat himself next to Tom with a steaming mug in his hand. 

 

“Quite nice, eh?” Chris asked, without looking. Tom found his Australian accent amusing and endearing. Maybe it was not so much the accent but the way Chris talked. He was always a bit cheery. 

 

Tom was not always a recluse. He wasn’t born to be one, actually. He was not particularly introverted either. Back when he wasn’t on the run and things were relatively peaceful, he was quite a social butterfly, getting along with everyone and receiving dozens of Christmas cards.

  
  
  


“I don’t know why I’m here with you,” Tom blurts out. Chris turns his gaze from the window to Tom. He looked confused at first, but moments later, he put on that easy smile again. 

“I do,” Chris said. “You want to be friends.” 

 

Tom didn’t say anything back. Instead, he kept staring out the window and drowning himself in thought. Chris was right. He missed having someone to talk to and more importantly, someone to have fascinating, intellectual conversations with. He’s had no one to do that with for quite a long time now. In a way, he doesn’t even really remember how to converse anymore. But Chris had a way about him that made Tom want to babble on about this and that. He was hard to refuse. 

 

Then he felt the warmth of Chris’s body leaving. Tom turned to look at Chris, who was getting up to slice the pound cake. And as he returned with two small plates of cake, he casually asked, “What are you running from? If I may ask.” 

 

And for some reason, Tom felt like being honest. “My father,” he replied. That didn’t mean he had to elaborate. “Oh yeah?” Chris asked again as he handed Tom a plate and sat himself down again. 

 

“He’s...horrible,” Tom said. Chris gazed at his face quite sharply, as though he was demanding more explanation, as he shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth. 

 

Tom was mysterious to Chris. In his career as auror back in Australia, he’d met plenty of quirky or strange witches and wizards who made him quite curious. Some of them turned out to be evil and others, just strange in that wizardly way. Tom was not quite like either; he appeared to have so many secrets but Chris also sensed undeniable goodness in him. Or maybe he just wanted to think that, because he was extremely attracted to Tom. And there couldn’t possibly be any harm in getting to know each other a bit, Chris thought. 

 

“Must be one hell of a horrible person to make you run this fiercely,” Chris said, still shoving cake into his mouth. Tom hadn’t even touched his plate. 

 

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but doesn’t quite know what to say. What level of detail does he go into? What was he comfortable with sharing? Maybe it wasn’t safe to share anything. Not able to come to a conclusion, Tom just shuts his mouth up again. Though he’s silent, and yes, Chris noticed, Tom’s head is busy with thoughts about what’s passed. 

 

The memory of a terrifying night on the Knight Bus flashes through. Tom shivers a bit, and Chris sneaks his bottoms a bit closer to Tom’s, as though that would somehow help. Tom remembered hysterically crying as he sat on the old and yellow sheets of the bus’s bed. That was the night he witnessed his loyal elf die at the hands of his own father; the night he escaped home, leaving his crying mother and young sisters behind. The bus took him to King’s Cross, and Tom headed for France that day. 

 

Suddenly, Tom couldn’t sit there anymore. All of the trauma came rolling in. So he abruptly got up, accidentally pushing Chris in the process and knocking his plate out of his hand. The plate collided with the floor with cake crumbs flying everywhere. Chris looked startled but he didn’t say anything. 

 

“Sorry. I have to go,” Tom said. 

 

Instead of arguing or interrogating, Chris quietly got up, fetched the jar of floo powder and handed it to Tom. As Tom placed himself inside the fireplace, he looked at Chris, who casually asked, “Can I see you again?” That caught Tom off guard a little bit. He quickly replied, a bit unintentionally, “Yes.” 

 

And as he traveled through the floo network, Tom swallowed hard, wondering if it was alright if he liked the strange Australian wizard a bit. 

 


	5. King's Cross

It was becoming easier to say yes to Chris’s date invitations. Dangerously so, even. 

 

Wait, were those considered dates when Tom would meet him for a cup of tea or a stroll? Was it a date when he took Chris to the Muggle cinema and blew his mind? (Chris wasn’t aware that Muggles had such sophisticated motion pictures technology.) Tom wasn’t quite sure, but there were times that Tom enjoying himself enough to forget about the fear and depression he’s lived with for more than a decade. That was somewhat dangerous. Fear inspires vigilance and Tom needed vigilance.

 

But did he? He didn’t even know where his father was or what he was doing; if he wielded the same power he did. Maybe those Death Eaters he saw at various places he’d gone with Chris were following another leader now. He was never as powerful as Voldemort anyway. Perhaps his father had even died. Tom couldn’t know for sure -- he’d been cut off from the magical world for so long. And now, even on occasions when he'd return, he didn't dare pick up a copy of the Daily Prophet. To be truthful, he was afraid to know the truth.

 

Was it selfish to say he wanted to enjoy the sweet moments and only the sweet moments? At least for now. Not forever, Tom understood. Nothing lasted forever. 

 

Tom began spending a lot of time by the window where Munches would knock its beak on. He usually kept the windows and curtains tightly shut, but ever since the first time Munches the Phoenix, who was growing quite rapidly by the way, knocked on the window to deliver Chris’s mail, Tom had been leaving the curtain open just a little bit, allowing a tiny ray of sun to shine through. 

 

And it felt quite nice, actually. Tom dragged a rocking chair to the window, allowing the sunlight to rest on his skin while he read and secretly waited for Munches. 

 

Munches arrived at the window on the evening of that late August day -- this time, bringing along a message from Chris saying that he’s headed to King’s Cross the next day to get on the Hogwarts Express. Term would start soon.

 

“Will you come see me off?” Chris wrote in the letter. That made Tom smile a little. 

 

Tom searched around for a piece of paper and found an old Sainsbury’s receipt nearby. He quickly scribbled, “Yes” and sent the note off with Munches, but not before giving the beautiful magical creature a quick kiss on the forehead. 

 

When dawn came the following day, Tom was already wide awake, sort of regretting his decision to so hastily say yes to coming to King’s Cross Station. But at the same time, he didn't really. Instead of stewing in his thoughts in bed, Tom decided to get up and start preparing his disguise. A fresh pot of Polyjuice Potion, brewed with ingredients Chris had snuck him earlier, was ready to go. He’d probably take a trip to John’s flat upstairs for a handful of his hair. The neighbour was already losing hair, so Tom didn’t feel so bad.

 

Tom was getting more and more brave. He had been using much more magic than he had in the last decade. In a way, it was good to know he hadn’t lost a lot of it, or any at all, but sometimes, he also feared that his loss of vigilance would lead his father to him. Then again, Tom hadn’t encountered a single suspicious situation while visiting with Chris or using magic. He didn’t particularly feel watched, even when he knew Death Eaters were around. It was his own paranoia he had to deal with mostly.

 

Maybe his father wasn’t looking for him. Maybe his father thought him dead. Maybe he's dead. That would be preferable, Tom thought. 

 

Chris met Tom, or Tom disguised as neighbour John, at King’s Cross later that day. And as they sat in a waiting room, Chris gently said, “Plan on spending Christmas with me.” Tom just stared back at the blond for a second or two. 

 

“Well, unless you know… you have family events to attend to,” Chris said as he smiled awkwardly and released a fake cough. 

“You know I don’t,” Tom replied quickly. He hadn’t revealed much about his family situation to Chris, but Chris knew Tom had been living as a Muggle. 

“Does that mean you’ll be with me for Christmas?”

 

Chris looked a little bit nervous asking that question. Tom found that endearing. “Yes,” he replied. And Chris’s awkward smile turned into a huge, genuine one. 

 

They began walking toward the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, but right as they approached it, Tom stopped suddenly. He couldn’t get himself to do it. If he crosses and sees the Hogwarts Express with all of the young witches and wizards excitedly boarding the train with their owls, frogs and rats, he might completely break down. It wasn’t even about fear of his father at that point. He feared how much he missed his life as a wizard and he feared how much he was growing to like Chris and the dangers that posed. 

 

Chris felt Tom seize up, so he also stopped and faced him, placing his hands on top of Tom’s shoulders. “You alright?” he asked. Tom did not indicate one way or another.  After taking a deep breath, he finally said to Chris, “I don’t think I can go in.” 

 

Chris understood. Actually, he didn’t really. There were still so many mysteries to Tom and he wanted to know more. Chris would sometimes feel frustrated; usually, he didn’t have so much trouble getting people to open up to him. But he also sensed that there must be a greater reason for Tom to live in such fear to the extent that he would not come to King’s Cross as himself but borrow the appearance of his neighbour John again. He only hoped Tom would one day allow him an opportunity to understand him better. 

 

“That’s okay,” Chris said. 

 

At that moment, Chris wanted nothing more than to kiss Tom. He felt strongly about letting Tom know how he felt about him before getting on the Hogwarts Express. It’s not clear if they will get to see each other very soon. But there was something weird about kissing Tom while he’s disguised as neighbour John. That wasn’t particularly enticing to Chris, and Chris didn’t think Tom would like that either.

 

So instead, Chris held up Tom’s hand (or John’s, to be exact) and left the tiniest kiss on the knuckles. Tom looked a bit surprised at first, but softened his face almost immediately. 

 

“Next time, it won’t be on your hand,” Chris said. Tom smiled because he knew exactly what he meant by that. 


	6. Adventure

Tom was embarking on his biggest and bravest adventure thus far. Well, at least the bravest in the past 13 years. He’d gone on plenty of reckless adventures as a young wizard before he’d left the magical world, but for obvious reasons, not since then.  

 

He was going to Hogsmeade to visit Chris. 

 

It was actually quite pathetic how anxious but excited he was, Tom thought. He’d stayed away for more than a decade somehow, yet just three weeks of not seeing this guy he barely knows was the reason he’s standing at the village’s gate, waiting for him. But he really had to find out whether Chris would keep the promise he made at King’s Cross just before he disappeared into Platform 9 ¾. To his own detriment, he quite immediately responded to Chris’s letter asking to meet at Hogsmeade.

 

Was it odd to say he missed the large Australian? They hadn’t known each other for that long. And perhaps he’s risking himself too much for someone who might still turn out to be bad for him. This good feeling could also be a fleeting one. 

 

Nevertheless, here he was. And it took quite a bit of effort this time to prepare for the disguise. When he snuck into John’s flat early morning, while John was usually still sleeping, Tom found him wide awake, watching the telly. Tom had to petrify the poor lad, pull out a bunch of his hair and put a memory charm on him. Perhaps it was time Tom found another neighbour to steal hair from. 

 

“Have you been waiting long?” Tom heard a familiar voice say from behind him by the Hogsmeade village gate. He quickly turned around to find Chris smiling at him and it took nearly all of his will not to throw himself into Chris’s arms. Instead, Tom just quietly shook his head and smiled back faintly. He tried not to look so excited. 

 

The pair headed to Three Broomsticks, where Tom almost excitedly said hello to Madam Rosmerta, forgetting for a moment that he was disguised as John and it could not be known to anyone that he is here. He also spotted a few of his old Hogwarts professors at the bar, and he found himself challenged again not to run to them to give bare hugs and tell them how much he missed Hogwarts. 

 

But Tom successfully kept his feelings bottled up and quietly sat with Chris at a corner table, where they sipped on their fire whiskeys and chatted about Chris’s life at Hogwarts. Teaching the younger ones (first through third year, Chris said) proved to be most challenging -- they always had so many questions.

 

“Professor Hemsworth!” a young girl exclaimed from the other side of the bar as they chatted on. Chris’s head turned. The girl then walked across Three Broomsticks to their table, and that made Tom hide behind Chris’s mass.

 

“Fancy seeing you here, professor,” the girl said. 

“Oh hello, Griselda. How do you do?” Chris replied politely. 

“Just fine, sir. I was headed out to Honeydukes. And this is…?” she asked as she pointed to Tom, who was John at the moment. 

 

Chris almost blurted out Tom’s name, but caught himself in time. What instead came out of his mouth was, “Um, this is… This is Mr. Maximilian Grubbles. He’s a visiting scholar.” Chris had spat out the first name that popped up in his head, which was the name of an herbologist he saw in a magazine while sitting on the john a few days ago. 

 

“Oh my goodness! Maximilian Grubbles! You’re the one who discovered the seven uses of garden gnome urine! My mum was reading about you in the Magical Gardening Monthly! Could I get an autograph for her? She would be so thrilled,” the girl said, looking straight at Tom, who was still trying to hide.   

 

Chris was baffled at how a fifth year witch at Hogwarts would know about a little-known herbologist who discovered the seven uses of garden gnome urine, and also panicked that Tom might be feeling startled or afraid. And Chris was right. Tom found himself dumbfounded, unable to say anything. As silence continued, the girl smiled awkwardly and began searching for a piece of parchment from her bag. Seeing a panicked look on Tom’s face, Chris quickly grabbed Tom by the arm and got up from the table. 

 

“Actually, we were about to head out because Mr. Grubbles is not feeling terribly well. But I do promise you I’ll get him to sign a book for your mum, Griselda. See you later, then,” Chris said to his student.  

 

Leaving a puzzled Griselda behind, Chris and Tom rushed to the exit and shut the door loudly behind them. To Chris’s surprise, Tom was giggling. “You couldn’t come up with a better fake name?” he asked Chris. 

 

They laughed as they walked, headed to Honeyduke’s at Tom’s request. Tom would do some shopping there. He had an incredible sweet tooth and it had been at least a decade since he’d eaten the sweet delicacies of the wizarding world, not that he minded the Muggle jelly babies from corner stores. 

 

But before they could walk in, Tom needed to take another gulp of his Polyjuice potion. Chris had noticed John’s light brown hair darkening to Tom’s black. So Tom reached inside his coat pocket for the extra supply of potion, which he’d packed earlier in a flask, only to find nothing there. Then anxiety quickly rolled back in. 

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to apparate out of here,” Tom said urgently. Chris looked as though someone had murdered his pet owl. 

“But you just got here not too long ago,” Chris pouted. He was having trouble hiding his disappointment. 

“I know, but I can’t be seen as I am. Someone here would recognize me,” Tom told him. Chris looked totally heartbroken for a second, but suddenly opened his eyes wide as if he’d realized something. 

“I’ve got more Polyjuice in my quarters! We could go and fetch it, you know,” Chris said.

 

Chris had been brewing Polyjuice since the first time Tom showed up disguised as John, he explained. He reckoned it might come in handy someday, and he was obviously right. If they could just go and fetch the extra and find somebody’s hair or nail or something in the castle, they might be able to prolong Tom’s stay at Hogsmeade.

 

Except, there was only one obvious problem.

 

“Your quarters? Inside Hogwarts?” Tom asked, his eyes depicting disbelief. Chris smiled and nodded. 

 

Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of a secret entryway, located inside Aberforth Dumbledore’s house. It appeared that Chris had also been investigating ways to get into Hogwarts without using the official entrances. He’d secretly hoped to bring Tom back in, and hoped that bringing Tom to Hogwarts would make him open up more to Chris about his past. 

 

It was by chance that Chris had made friends with the herbology professor, Neville Longbottom. Amongst the old farts that made up most of Hogwarts’ faculty, the two youngins bonded well together and often spent spare time chatting and drinking firewhiskey. Neville told him about the secret path that leads from Aberforth’s house into the castle. 

 

Tom couldn’t believe himself. He knew what a reckless thing this was, to try and sneak into Hogwarts when his disguise was wearing off. But he couldn’t help but want to go. There were no words that could accurately describe the nostalgia he felt for Hogwarts, where most of his only good memories came from...

 

“Why is it that you couldn’t just walk through the front gate?” Aberforth asked them suspiciously. They’d introduced Tom as Grubbles again. 

“Err…” Chris couldn’t answer. They weren’t quite prepared for that one. 

“Nevermind,” Aberforth said. He tended to blindly trust friends of Neville Longbottom. 

 

By the time Tom and Chris had entered the castle, Tom’s disguise had worn off completely. Seeing himself reflected on a glass window, Tom began to panic. But you cannot apparate or disapparate from Hogwarts. With that realization, Tom’s panic gauge went up 1,000 percent. 

 

Chris grabbed Tom by the hand and began dragging him somewhere. Tom quickly pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and put his head down, as he sped up his footsteps, feeling the blood circulate more than normal on his hand that Chris was holding. 

 


	7. In the castle

It all happened so quickly. Tom vaguely remembered the door shutting behind them and making a thudding noise. He also remembered taking a sharp breath as he rested his body upon that same door, and Chris’s stubbly chin drawing near. 

 

“Do you remember what I told you at King’s Cross?” Chris asked, as they stood face to face with just centimetres between them. He could even see the pores on Chris’s face. 

 

It appeared that Chris had an ulterior motive in bringing Tom back to his quarters, and Tom knew; his want conquered fear at the time. 

 

Soon after, they were tearing each other’s clothes off and stumbling toward Chris’s messy bed and collapsing on top of a mountain of robes and books stacked on top of it. Animalistic instinct kicked in after that.

 

Tom kicked some books off accidentally as he kicked off the undergarment that was dangling at his ankle. Chris was an arduous lover, gently but also aggressively and relentlessly caressing Tom all over as he kissed, licked and nibbled at his skin. And he was not shy by any stretch of the imagination. Upon finding themselves entirely naked and sprawled and tangled all over the place, Chris, without an inch of hesitation, took Tom’s cock in his mouth, making Tom’s body seize up with pleasure at the sensation. 

 

“Oh… Chris,” he moaned, as Chris’s tongue traveled back and forth between the tip of his cock and the skin between his testicles and anus. Chris liked the sound of that. 

 

As things heated up more, and reciprocating blow jobs and rubbing their cocks together no longer proved to be enough, Chris and Tom exchanged looks that said, ‘Shall we?’ But Tom almost didn’t know quite how to proceed, because usually with casual encounters, filters already did the work of informing your partner about your top or bottom, or other, preferences. 

 

Thankfully, Chris was smoother in that regard. He was a good lover to say the least. He gently sucked on his own index and middle fingers, with which he then gently pressed Tom’s hole. Tom preferred to bottom, but would occasionally reverse. He just followed Chris’s lead as he lay on his back, signaling a welcome to Chris by opening his legs up to ensure easy access.

 

“You wouldn’t… happen to have any oil, would you?” Tom asked, breathing harshly in between words. Chris shook his head, but immediately said, “I’ve got another idea.”

 

Then he flipped Tom over using sheer power, forced his legs open and buried his face into Tom’s buttocks. Tom almost screamed when he did that. But instead, he resorted to grabbing tightly onto Chris’s sheets with both hands. More items fell off from the bed in the process.

 

“You taste so sweet, Tom,” Chris said when he looked up for a moment, but soon returned to enthusiastically fucking Tom’s anus with his tongue. And Tom was certain he was going to come all over the place if Chris didn’t stop. 

 

Taking back control, Tom flipped his body around once more, shoved Chris down and straddled him. This was probably going to hurt, but the mood allowed for it, Tom thought. Then he sank his bottom down with Chris’s fully erect cock filling every corner of Tom’s insides. There, Tom allowed himself to scream a little.

 

Tom rode him until Chris moaned and pleaded for him to stop, saying “I’ll come if you don’t stop.” That didn’t sound much like a threat to Tom, so he continued riding and as he did so, rapidly stroked his own cock. 

 

Tom had ridden a horse before. This was kind of like that, but with… much more pleasure. 

 

“Come if you wish,” he told Chris. So Chris did, and Tom followed soon after. 

 

Tom couldn’t quite remember the last time he got laid before this, not that he was treating Chris as one of those one-time encounters that usually ended in Tom hastily running away as though someone was chasing him in the middle of the night. He did sporadically engage in casual sex with strangers he’d met on the Muggle internet, but he never slept with the same person more than once to keep his anonymity. He hadn’t had an ongoing relationship since…

 

Jean.

 

He was about to think of Luke, his Hogwarts sweetheart. But technically speaking, Jean would have been the last time Tom had an ongoing sexual relationship with someone, not that that was particularly a fond memory. To be exact, he felt bittersweet about the whole thing. 

 

Tom was still trying to figure out if he should be forever grateful to Jean, or be angry that Jean had exploited him. 

 

Barely 18 years old, Tom arrived in Paris immediately after he’d escaped his father’s dungeon. He didn’t know anyone and had nowhere to go. The only thing working in favor was that Tom vaguely remembered a magical street that connected from an antique shop in the Muggle world on Rue de l'Abreuvoir. He managed to get there hitchhiking with Muggle tourists, who probably didn’t realize he was any more peculiar than themselves in a foreign environment. 

 

But when he got there, it’s not like he had any idea how to survive after that. So Tom ended up wandering around the streets, starving and cold but too proud to beg for food or money. He had no money in his pocket and no extra clothes. After about three days, he started to look very pathetic, as though he belonged on the streets alongside the others who stood around street corners with their palms extended in search for good hearts. 

 

Day four is when Jean found Tom, sleeping in the street corner, wearing torn clothes not warm enough for the coming winter and looking entirely too malnourished. Jean took him home. Tom followed because he had no other choice. 

 

Jean was much older -- probably in his 40s when Tom first met him. It wasn’t clear until later what he did for work. Tom only learned a few months later that Jean wrote romance novels for witches and wizards. Apparently he was a rather popular one too; Tom once accompanied him to a book signing at Rodin’s, where dozens of middle aged witches gaggled around fawning at Jean. 

 

Jean fed Tom, bathed him and cared for him. For that, Tom was eternally grateful. But as Tom’s humanly colour started to restore, Jean’s ulterior motive soon revealed itself. He was interested in Tom sexually, and Tom was made to feel as though he owed it to Jean to give himself up as tokens of gratitude. Tom was not disgusted by Jean -- he was a well-groomed man, even at his much older age -- but not particularly attracted to him either. More importantly, he was still grieving for Luke, who he’d thought he’d spend a good chunk of his coming life with. For all he knew, Luke was still out there looking for him.

 

Three years of living under Jean’s care, occasionally doing his bidding and showing his gratitude, Tom finally announced that he was leaving and returning to England. He was quietly afraid that that would set Jean off to do something irrational, but to his surprise, Jean smiled and allowed him to go. He even gave Tom a large sum of money to get his life started in London and connected him to a Muggle publisher he could possibly work for. 

 

Tom still couldn’t understand why Jean did what he did. 

 

Tom snapped out of his thoughts when he felt Chris toss and turn. Dawn was coming on, and he’d better get up and leave the castle before anyone else is up and about. He gently nudged Chris on the side, who made a growling noise that made Tom crack up laughing. At the sound of Tom’s unvarnished laughs, Chris opened his eyes and turned to Tom, extending his huge arms cross Tom’s torso and embracing him tight. 

 

“Good morning,” Chris said. Tom smiled at that. 

 

Soon after, Tom prepared to leave, taking a gulp of Chris’s supply of Polyjuice potion mixed with a string of hair that Chris said he got from Neville’s sweater. He just needed to make it Aberforth’s house on the other side of the secret path, and Aberforth would not find it strange that Neville had come through there. 

 

The castle’s halls were still dark with only bits of light making it through the clouds and into the glass windows. Chris and Tom held hands as they swiftly made their way to the passageway. Though, to anyone observing, it must have looked like two Hogwarts professors were holding hands. When they got arrived at the entrance to the path, neither seemed particularly excited to let go. 

 

“I’ll see you at Christmas, yeah?” Chris asked. Tom nodded, though he’d hoped for earlier, and said, “My place.” 

 

Tom mindlessly moved his head forward in Chris’s direction to give a quick kiss, but Chris retreated suddenly and grabbed him by the shoulders. Then Tom realized that he’s not himself at the moment. It would sure feel strange kissing your colleague and mate. So instead, Tom snatched Chris’s hand and gently pecked the knuckles. “Next time, it won’t be on your hand,” Tom teased. 

 

When Tom arrived at the end of the tunnel and pushed the portrait that would lead him to Aberforth’s kitchen, he found Aberforth sitting there twirling his index finger just above a teaspoon to stir his morning tea. 

 

“What are you doing here so early?” Aberforth asked.

“Err…” Tom couldn’t say anything. He probably thinks he’s Neville. 

 

But Aberforth quickly realized there was something odd about not-Neville. He’d known Neville a while; he didn’t usually show up early in the morning without sending him an owl first. He said suspiciously, “Wait, you aren’t -”

  
Before Aberforth could say another word, Tom blurted, “Sorry. Got to go!” and disapparated into thin air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See typos or plot holes? Inbox me, please. I haven't any time lately to line-edit. Much appreciation to all who read :)


	8. Beginning of the end

The next time Tom and Chris rendezvoused, it was about a week later at the Shrieking Shack. It was a rather bold choice, Tom knew, but it was a place dear to his heart, though most people would argue that it’s a place that inspires the worst of fears. 

 

How ecstatic he and Luke had been when they discovered that it was a harmless shack. They’d ended up in it in the first place for the sake of adventure, but they were both glad to have found a sanctuary. Its shoddy reputation allowed them to have some quiet time here. 

 

Tom felt conflicted at first about bringing his new lover (could he call Chris that now?) to a place sacred to the memory of his former lover, but decided it was foolish to lament about Luke now. He didn’t even remember his face anymore, really. He still had pictures, of course, but it felt strange to stare at Luke’s teenage face as a man in his 30s. It’s been such a long time since they last met. And Chris was genuinely thrilled to be in a secluded place with Tom all to himself. 

 

“I really like you, Tom,” Chris confessed there. Tom, not knowing quite what to say back, fumbled a bit. “Yeah, you too. I mean, I like you too. Really,” he said to Chris, who laughed at him. Then they kissed, held hands and touched each other. 

 

Tom could actually remember the last time he felt this way. It was when he first met Luke. But he tried not to think about things like that. 

 

Tom and Chris spent Chris’s Christmas break together, as promised, holed up in Tom’s flat on the Muggle side of London. 

 

Tom had never cooked a Christmas feast before. He wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea -- he just hadn’t any experience. When he lived at home, his father had this twisted mentality that only women should be in the kitchen. Tom was never even allowed to set foot in it. He’d cooked meals for Jean when he lived in France, but they didn’t celebrate any holidays. He had a rotating repertoire of maybe about ten dishes that didn’t involve much skill -- magic or otherwise -- at all. 

 

So why he had signed up to cook a holiday feast for Chris and himself, he really had no idea. It was an ambitious idea, perhaps overly. Tom just wanted Chris to be able to leave Hogwarts and spend time with him in a place where he felt most comfortable. 

 

More importantly, he did not want to be disguised as anyone else. He just wanted to spend a few weeks in his own skin, enjoying Chris’s company without having to worry about making sure he has enough Polyjuice potion or a secure way out.    
  


And how he had missed Chris over the few weeks that he hadn’t seen him. 

 

On the first day of Chris’s Christmas break, they’d ended up at the very same Sainsbury’s they first met, attempting to buy ingredients for this grand dinner that Tom still didn’t know was going to be edible. And at the moment, he was more occupied with trying to make sure Chris didn’t say or do anything stupid to expose them. 

 

“What is this? Marmite? Is this tasty? Can we eat this with ham?” Chris asked while holding up a jar of Marmite. Tom almost gagged. It wasn’t his favourite. 

“I think it’s rather nasty, but you’re welcome to try it, of course,” he replied. 

“What about this? Would this be useful somehow?” Chris held up individually packaged bags of yeast. 

“Only if you intend to make bread, I think,” Tom replied. “Are we making bread?” Chris asked. Tom just sighed. That was obviously out of the realm of his cooking skills. 

 

Tom had to declare a no-magic rule in his flat. That was for the better. Chris agreed, though he did make a point to say it was a bit paranoid for Tom to be afraid inside the walls of his own flat. Tom gently reminded him that that sort of paranoia kept him alive for 13 years. Chris shut his mouth after that.

But he did struggle with not being able to whip his wand out for everything.

 

“Tom! Your communication device just spoke back at me!” Chris exclaimed, holding up Tom’s iPhone as Tom struggled to follow the ham browning recipe. Somehow, Chris had activated Siri. Tom snatched his phone away and examined the screen. It read, “Oh hello. What a lovely voice you have. Who am I speaking to?” 

 

Siri had replied, “My name is Siri.” Chris was having a conversation with it. 

 

Then he accidentally dialed multiple people, including Tom’s boss at the Muggle publishing company and his insurance agent. Thankfully, everyone must have been gone from the office for Christmas holidays to actually answer. That could have been disastrous, Tom thought. 

 

The night before, Chris had attempted to make coffee before Tom got up. The coffee machine kept beeping back at Chris, who couldn’t quite figure out what to put where, though he found the bag of ground coffee from Tom’s pantry. He ended up getting in an argument with it, and in his mind, he was the victor in the battle, as he had smashed his fist into the machine and made it stop beeping. 

 

On Christmas morning, they exchanged gifts. Tom got Chris a Muggle smartphone. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just something simple enough for Chris to use and certainly not one that will talk back at him. Tom only hoped the signal would work at Hogwarts. It probably won’t, but he had to try. Chris got Tom a snow globe of Hogsmeade that depicted what was going on in the village in real time. Tom really liked that. He saw Madam Rosmerta come in and out of the Three Broomsticks. 

 

Dinner turned out to be exquisite despite all of Tom’s worry. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Tom,” Chris told him, as he shoved forkfuls of ham into his mouth. 

 

They got too full to fuck and ended up crashing on Tom’s sofa with Tom’s head wedged in between Chris’s head and right shoulder. 

 

All good things end though. Before Tom could catch a breath, it was time for Chris to catch the Hogwarts Express back to the castle. Chris somehow convinced Tom to be himself as he saw Chris off at King’s Cross. Tom still hadn’t the courage to step onto Platform 9 ¾, but Chris knew not to push too far too soon. 

 

As a compromise, Tom and Chris ended up in a waiting, with the door locked and enchanted with a Muggle repellant spell. There, they sucked on each other’s faces as though they weren’t ever going to see each other ever again, which was simply not true. On their way on the Muggle train to King’s Cross, they’d already made plans for several weekends.

“I’ll miss you,” Chris said, cupping Tom’s face with his huge hands. This was true, more true than anything Chris has ever said before. 

 

Chris meant it so thoroughly. He wanted Tom to return to the magical world -- not for a visit here and there but to actually live. He saw how Tom’s eyes glowed at the sight of magic, like a child who hadn’t seen magic before. And Chris just knew that Tom would be a brilliant wizard, though he hadn’t witnessed much beyond Tom’s Polyjuice brewing skills and apparations. Tom had an aura about him; one of courage, love and sheer brilliance. 

 

Together, they could roam the known Earth in search for the most magical creatures alive. 

 

Tom gently kissed Chris on the lips, putting his hands over Chris’s, which still cupped Tom’s face. “Soon enough, dear,” Tom said. And Chris prayed to Merlin that Tom meant soon enough, they’d be spending nearly everyday together. 

 

Tom waved as Chris disappeared into the wall onto Platform 9 ¾. He sighed when Chris had completely disappeared. Tom felt as though he liked Chris too much.

 

At the same time, he was baffled at himself for having let go of much of his paranoia in exchange for Chris’s company. For him to have shown up at King’s Cross as himself… that was something he’d never thought he would do ever again. Chris made him feel so comfortable, like he could be himself. Tom still knew he had to exercise the utmost caution, but couldn’t help but feel rested and comfortable in Chris’s company, as though everything was somehow going to alright. 

 

Within minutes of thinking that, Tom found his own thought not to be true. 

 

“Tom?” he heard a woman exclaim from across the train station. He instinctively looked back, rather unsuspectingly at that, too, only to find his younger sister Emma standing there.

 

He froze and felt his feet plant into the marvel floors. 


	9. Stranger things

Tom felt dizzy, like he was going to throw up at any moment. Emma sat inches away from him, hysterically crying, trying to speak but mostly mumbling, with a word here and there making it through her pained screams. But Tom couldn’t really hear. He was shaking from his core.

It was a wonder that neither of them had passed out yet.

The only thing Tom could make out from her jumbled word was that their father, James Hiddleston, or Nefario as he preferred to be called, had remained Minister for Magic all these years and was closer to making his empire of only pureblood witches and wizards a reality.

“But...how? How did he?” he asked Emma. At her response, Tom wished he hadn’t asked at all.

Magical Law required that an election be held for the Minister’s office with an interval of seven years maximum. There had been two elections with two willing opponents, both of whom were found dead weeks before elections were supposed to take place. Needless to say, one could not possibly lose against a dead opponent… Despite whatever their actual popularity might had been, Nefario had managed to win both times. In fact, Emma was certain her father would have never stayed Minister should those opponents have lived.

Tom felt deeply disturbed, disgusted to the core. He couldn’t believe, but he could. He knew the capacity of his father’s evil. A part of him lived in denial, though.

Tom had a million other questions, which he couldn’t help but ask all at once in bullet speed. What about mum? Sarah? What’s happened to them? Are they safe? Where do they live now? What about you? Are you alright? Did he hurt you? 

The answers were that no, none of them were safe. Sarah had fled to Asia after their father had tried to forcibly marry her off to a high-ranking Death Eater, who was 40 years her senior, saying she was to breed pureblood witches and wizards for the prosperity of their world. Emma had married a Scotsman two years past, who had fake papers that labeled him a pureblood, but were it to be found out that he’s actually a Muggleborn, their father would see to it that he never saw Emma again.

And mum… Emma shed a thousand tears as she choked. “She’s ill,” she said. Years and years of the Imperius Curse that had been put on her by Nefario to keep her submissive had taken a toll. She was losing it… and badly so.

“Bad things are about to happen, Tom,” she said. “You must help us. You must help mum.”

Nefario now possessed a fairly comprehensive registry of Muggleborns and half-bloods, she told Tom. And he had an army of Death Eaters willing to do his bidding; they were wandering about in Magical towns, tracking Muggleborns down and charging them with crimes they didn’t commit, then taking them to Azkaban without due process. Many witches and wizards have gone into hiding as a result, Emma said. Several have fled overseas, like their sister, Sarah.

“And now they’re raiding Hogwarts, Tom. Hogwarts! For fuck’s sake! It’s no longer protected,” she said.

Tom’s stomach sank even further at that statement. He didn’t think that was possible; he was already feeling so horrible. But the thought of Chris possibly being in danger got to him. He knew for a fact that Chris’s father was a Muggle. It had come up in conversation before. What he didn’t know was whether or not Chris’s mum was also.

Had Chris been brought in to replace a Muggleborn professor? What would they do if they found out that Chris could be a Muggleborn? Will he take him away too?

“I don’t know what he will do next,” she said. “Mum reckons he’s going to start killing off the Muggleborns anytime now…”

And anyone who opposed him on this quest, she added.

Tom returned to his flat that evening with that sinking feeling in his stomach lingering. He was hesitant to leave Emma behind, knowing that she was not safe in the magical world. Their mother was also not safe. Tom knew he had to do something, that he had to go back and get his sisters and mother, but he needed to think first. He needed to understand what was actually going on.

He made an unbreakable vow to Emma. He promised to return for her, Sarah and mum.

Sinking into the sofa in deep thought, Tom felt tortured. All these years, he’d only been concerned for his own survival and neglected to realize how much of a danger his sisters and mother had been in. How much have they had to endure? Tom couldn’t quite guess the extent, but thinking of his mother’s face after all that Emma’s told him… Tears rolled down his cheeks. His whole body trembled and the migraine that had been teasing Tom for days now had gone into full-on battle mode, attacking his brain viciously.

Tom sat in the same place for hours, tortured by the same thought. It’d have continued for hours more had Chris not called him on the phone with the Muggle mobile that Tom had gotten him for Christmas. Chris said he’d tried calling from the castle, but it kept making funny noises instead of connecting.

Now, he was out in Hogsmeade, trying for better luck. And it worked.

He’d actually called if Tom wanted to meet in Hogsmeade on the weekend, but realized Tom was being awfully quiet.

“You alright, love?” Chris asked worriedly.

Tom couldn’t answer for a while. He was not alright, not in the least bit, but he couldn’t make up his mind on whether or not he should confide in Chris about having run into Emma, of all the things he heard from her.

Several seconds later, he asked Chris, “Have you noticed anything…funny lately?”

“What do you mean, funny?” Chris asked back.  
“Like, people disappearing. Or strange men in dark hoods wandering about the castle.”  
“You mean the Soldiers?”  
“The soldiers?”

Soldiers. They were hooded men – menacing to say the least – who patrolled the castle. Chris wasn’t sure what for; he was only told by other professors that it was for “security.” He was confused, but assumed it was a British thing. Perhaps they were scared of misbehaving children. He saw the Soldiers every now and then, walking around in packs with their wands drawn, but he’d never actually seen any of them take anyone away.

Chris didn’t actually know why he hadn’t mentioned them to Tom before. He reckoned that Soldiers were just a thing at Hogwarts, like they’d always been there, probably even when Tom went there years ago. That’s what he was told anyway. He didn’t think their presence was particularly unnatural, mostly because he had no means of comparison; he was from elsewhere.

Then he started to think very hard about anyone who might be missing… and unfortunately, he could think of a couple. A first year Gryffindor boy had been missing from class for three days. And he hadn’t seen Josephine lately either, a bright young witch in her sixth year who was studying to be an Auror – Chris thought her perfect for the job; she certainly had the grades and the wits. Then he also recalled that the charms professor had taken sick leave about a month ago and was filled in by one of the Soldiers. That was certainly peculiar. Professor Hyderbaggins was a uniquely spry fellow…

“What do they have in common?” Tom asked.  
“Errr… I dunno. One’s a Gryffindor, the other is a Hufflepuff… Years apart, too.”  
“Come on, Chris. Try to think!” Tom’s tone was urgent. Chris didn’t understand.

But he did try to think – very hard, in fact. Gabriel Mudgeon was the first year boy, in Gryffindor… He was from Manchester and particularly gifted in charms. He wasn’t outspoken in class, though he did have a predilection for mischief. Chris would have never noticed him if he hadn’t conjured a perfect glitter bomb charm minutes before class. And his parents… Chris remembered the boy telling him they were some sort of merchants in Manchester. They sold vegetables or something at a Muggle market. That’s right; they were Muggles.

And that girl, Josephine, who was brilliant in all regards and a favorite among many professors. She was also the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, ending Gryffindor’s five-win streak with a new strategy. Everyone had high hopes for her, including Chris. She was going to be a great Auror one day, no doubt. She was particularly admirable since she’d lost her mum in a car accident, which many of her peers didn’t understand what it was, and took care of her ill dad, who’d retired from the Muggle car industry and lived on government welfare. She did so much with so little…

Professor Hyderbaggins… He was eccentric, but not much more so than other professors at Hogwarts. They were all sort of strange in their own ways, Chris thought. Chris didn’t actually know much about him at all other than the fact that Hyderbaggins had largely embraced and flaunted his Muggle-heritage, introducing other professors to Muggle-made gadgets every now and then.

Then it occurred to Chris.

“They’re… they’re all Muggleborn,” he said, voice trembling.

Tom swallowed hard – so hard that Chris could hear over the static. Tom tried to keep calm as he asked Tom, “Chris… You never told me about your mum before. Is she…a Muggle?”

Chris stayed silent. Tom knew the answer even without Chris saying anything.

“Chris, you need to get out of there,” Tom said.


	10. Tommy boy

Chris didn’t end up leaving Hogwarts right away. “It would be highly suspicious if I’d just picked up and left right now, Tom. Think about it,” he said. Chris had a point. It would be very suspicious, Tom agreed. Right now, they didn’t seem to know Chris’s parentage, due to his foreign citizenship. But both agreed it wasn’t paranoid to assume that they’d eventually find out and take measures.

As of yet, it wasn’t as though the Soldiers were abducting students and professors in plain sight. They were mostly disappearing with some sort of planted excuse and in very small numbers. In the coming days, Chris was able to identify two more people who had disappeared within the past month, but only because he was watching for strange disappearance. 

But Tom worried. From what Emma said, he was certain they’d begin taking people in plain sight and executing them any day now. And when that happened, he didn’t want Chris to be there. He’d told Chris that, but Chris didn’t seem to be in a hurry to escape. In fact, Chris wanted to stay and fight.

“If what you’re saying is true, I’m not going to escape while these Soldiers take away my students,” Chris said adamantly.

Tom couldn’t get himself to talk about the source of the problem: his father, Nefario. James Hiddleston. He hadn’t managed to tell Chris that his father was the reason that those children and professors were disappearing to who knows where. They could have been imprisoned, or worse, killed, for all they knew. How could he tell Chris, though? How could he tell his lover that his own father was the evil behind all this? 

For now, Tom didn’t have the capacity to worry about the rest of the world, or when the appropriate time was to tell Chris that his father is the evil monster at the heart of all this. His utmost priority at this point was to rescue his mother.

Nothing mattered more than that, not even Chris or his students or a glorious fight against Nefario.

At dawn, Tom readied himself, grabbed his wand and took a deep breath as he vanished into thin air. He was on a mission to do just that – rescue his mother.

When he reappeared, he was in the alleyway west of a gigantic mansion, decorated with a green and silver seal. He never thought he’d return ever again, but here he was outside of his childhood home, where he had grown up and more importantly, been imprisoned by his own father. It hurt his being to be physically present here, as though the trauma of the past was manifesting itself through a sharp, aching pain.

Tom hurt, but he carried on, pulling the dark hood of his robe over his head, hoping that anyone who may see him would consider him one of their own. He snuck in through a side door that led to the kitchen, one he used frequently as a child to sneak in and out.

It was almost as though nothing had changed. The interior of the mansion hadn’t changed at all, actually. It still had that dark, gloomy atmosphere with minimal décor save for a few ghastly paintings of ancestors, who never had anything nice to say.

There wasn’t anyone inside. Tom inhaled deeply as he proceeded on.

He headed toward his mother’s craft room. She’d always loved knitting. Before, she’d often send Tom and his sisters on a mission to buy dragon heartstring or unicorn tail from Diagon Alley so that she could knit these beautiful tapestries. She was truly a wonderful woman who possessed many gifts, as well as a golden heart that she sadly gave away to a very bad man.

Oh, how Tom wished she’d never married his father. That would mean he would not exist, but he also wished he’d never been born at all. The trauma wasn’t worth it, he thought.

When Tom approached the craft room, he started to hear gentle chatter. He recognized the voice to his mother’s, soft and quiet, as though she was whispering all the time. Just at the sound of her voice, his eyes began to well. It took everything in him not to burst into the room and run into his mother’s arms.

Carefully placing his feet as to not cause a creaking sound on the wooden floor, Tom quietly stood by the door, allowing himself to take a peek through a small crack that revealed the figure of his mother sitting in a large green velvet chair, weaving her hand up and down as she performed charms to braid together shiny golden strings. At the sight of that, Tom finally gave up trying to swallow away his tears and let them all out.

“Tommy, honey. This is for when you will get married. One day you will be a husband too, won’t you, boy? And that one’s for Sarah. She says she will never get married, but I think she’ll change her mind. She has to,” he heard his mother mutter. She was talking to herself.

Tom wanted to cry out loud.

Mother looked frail. Her face and hands had many more wrinkles than he could remember. After all, it’s been more than 13 years. What Emma said was turning out to be right – their mother was not alright mentally. Over the minutes Tom quietly observed her, she kept muttering to herself as though she was speaking to Tom, Emma or Sarah. She was talking as though they were still small children.

“Mama,” Tom couldn’t help but say. At the sound of his voice, his mother looked up, only to find the door in that direction. Her confused eyes wandered, but finding nothing, she returned her gaze to her knitting.

Tom gently pushed in the door and walked in, trying not to make a sound while he did that. But the door creaked a bit, and Mother looked up again. Their eyes met midair and Tom held up his index finger and went, “Shhhh.” She opened her mouth as though she was going to say something but quickly shut it again.

“I’m here to take you away,” Tom said. Mother looked at him longingly and smiled sadly and she shook her head.

Tom was confused. Why didn’t she want him to take her away? The answer soon became clear. She lifted the long skirt that was covering her ankles to reveal the shackles binding them.

“Tommy, you should not have come,” she said calmly. She appeared astute in that moment.  
“But mum… I have to take you,” he said, crying. He was now at her feet with his head buried in her lap and hands desperately grasping onto hers.  
“You must go now. Go find your sisters and take them to a safe place,” she said, sounding stronger than ever. She squeezed his hands hard.  
“What about… what about you? We need you. I’m going to get you out of here,” Tom insisted, looking up with the same teary eyes that he’d shown her as a child.

Mother smiled, her eyes dripping tears. “Oh Tommy, my boy. I love you. You must go. You must go and get your sisters. And you must defeat him. You must,” she said.

The mother and son heard footsteps approach. From the sounds of it, it was multiple people. Tom panicked but couldn’t move his body, nor could he stop crying. He was about losing it when his mother held his head up with both hands, kissed his forehead and said once again, “You must defeat him, Tommy. You must.”

Then she muttered a spell that sent him flying out the window onto the lawn.

Less than a minute later, two Death Eaters entered Mother’s craft room. “I heard you speaking,” one of them said with a suspecting look on his face.

“I speak to myself all the time,” she replied, not even giving them a glance.  
“That’s right. You do,” the Death Eater said as he walked around the room, carefully examining each part, unnecessarily tapping some objects with his wand, toppling one of the glass snow globes and sending it to the floor. The globe crashed and made an unbearably loud sound, which made Mother cringe.

He soon noticed the wide-open window and poked his head out of it, looking around at the green lawn but finding not even a single fly.

“Why is the window open?” he asked.  
“I was feeling a bit warm,” Mother replied.  
“It’s the middle of winter,” he said.  
“The fireplace is warm,” she spat back.

Then the other Death Eater aggressively walked toward the fireplace and conjured up a spell that distinguished the fire on the logs. The room instantly became so cold.

“This should solve the problem then,” he said, and with the flick of his wand, the windows shut violently and loudly.

Two floors below, Tom was catching his breath as he hid behind a pillar. He hadn’t expected his mother to send him flying and only caught himself seconds before he crashed head first. But he knew why she did that; he heard the Death Eaters come into her room and interrogate her.

He hadn’t stopped crying yet, though he was trying. The image of his mother’s shackled ankles would not leave his head. He thought very hard for a moment about running inside once more and attacking in full force. If Tom could somehow break the shackles… They were probably enchanted with the most powerful of protection charms, but he could certainly try.

With the element of surprise, he may be able to take a handful of those Death Eaters down… But the more he thought about it, the more it became obvious that neither he nor his mother would ever make it out alive. Not like this.

But he would come back for her. More prepared next time.

So Tom bit his lips and navigated his way out of the mansion’s vast grounds. Once he left the gate, he immediately vanished, leaving behind several drops of tears outside the Hiddleston Mansion.


	11. To fight or not

Chris received an owl… from the Ministry’s Foreign Services Bureau. He is to come in for what the letter says is a “routine” meeting. They’d just ask him some questions, the letter said. All he had to do was show up and answer them.  
Chris had a funny feeling about this -- for obvious reasons. 

He’d been trying to track any additional disappearances and three more had gone missing since three days ago, which is when he last spoke to Tom. Now it was more noticeable that people were going missing and rumors were circulating around the castle. Headmistress McGonagall, who wasn’t one to fear monger, began talking about it at staff meetings too. It became impossible to ignore. 

Back in London, Tom was in a total wreck. It broke Chris’s heart to hear Tom cry. He wished he knew more. Maybe he could help. But so far, Chris knew nothing of substance. 

Tom told Chris that his mother was in danger without adding much explanation. Chris knew this probably wasn’t the right time to press for details, though he wished Tom would trust him enough to confide in him. Chris did confide in Tom though, and told him about the strange letter he received from the Foreign Services Bureau summoning him to the Ministry. Tom panicked and begged him not to go. Both men were certain they were going to interrogate Chris about his parentage. 

Tom hadn’t told Chris quit yet, but he’d been thinking, maybe his mother, sisters, Chris and he could all leave and head for Australia. That’s where Chris is from, so it won’t be totally like starting from scratch. It would be much safer there; as far as Tom knew, Nefario hadn’t any ambitions on taking over Australia, though he wouldn’t put it past him to try. 

Tom took leave from his Muggle publishing work so he could focus on getting his mother and sisters away from Nefario. Within days of doing that, he received an owl from Emma, who told him things were about to get ugly at Hogwarts soon. He tried to ignore it; he had to find out how to get his mother out of that house first. 

But Tom had to change his mind when Munches, the baby phoenix, knocked on his window the other night, delivering a letter from Chris that said a dozen students and three professors were taken by the Soldiers for questioning.

And the woman leading the questioning was none other than Dolores Umbridge.

Tom remembered Umbridge. She lost power, reputation and everything else she had going for herself when Voldemort fell nearly 20 years ago. But she quickly found herself in service of Nefario, as he’d taken in many Death Eaters who lost their cause along with their master. Nefario was seen as Voldemort’s more capable successor, who would bring about true pureblood dominance that Voldemort failed to bring. But Tom never imagined she’d climb up the ladder much, considering how epically she flailed after she lost all that she had. In fact, he was surprised to hear she was even alive. 

Tom was merely a first year Hogwarts student when the Battle of Hogwarts took place. He hadn’t dealt with Umbridge directly, but knew from history lessons of her notoriety. With her in charge, things were surely going to go downhill rapidly.  
This was obviously bigger than one man dealing with his estranged, insane father. 

“McGonagall reckons hundreds more will be taken by end of month,” Chris also wrote in the letter. 

Then Tom was faced with a decision. He’d planned on showing up at Emma’s that night to plan how they were going to defeat dozens of Soldiers guarding the mansion to get their mother out and how they’d reunite with Sarah in Asia. But he also felt an obligation to examine what was going on at Hogwarts, try to help the students escape if he could. After all, it was his father, Nefario, who was responsible. Tom wondered if he should have killed his father when he had the chance. 

After hours of stewing over his conflicted feelings, Tom decided that he at least needed to go see Chris.

“Oh, thank god,” Tom couldn’t help but exclaim as he saw Chris approaching outside Hogsmeade. Then he ran into Chris’s arms, wanting to burst into tears.  
“It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I’m here,” Chris said, as he stroked Tom’s hair. 

Chris kissed Tom on the back of his head, on his forehead, nose and then lips. Tom felt his tense body relax a little bit. Chris had that effect on him. For a moment, Tom allowed himself to sink into Chris’s embrace, resisting the urge to tell him he’d fallen for him. Now seemed like the wrong time to whisper love. Some day, there will be a proper moment, though Tom was starting to doubt that he’d survive whatever is to come as a result of his father’s rampage. 

Chris was trying his best to be Tom’s rock in this situation, but he found it hard to do so. Just this morning, before Tom arrived and after their last communication, three of his first year students were taken from his class. The Soldiers barged in, Chris protested and drew his wand, but it was four of them against just Chris. One of them said as he snickered, “You might not want to do that, Professor.” So Chris couldn’t do anything else but watch as those soldiers grabbed the three children by the neck and dragged them out of the classroom as they screamed and begged Chris for help. He could only tell them that he’d come for them. 

The sound of their screams hasn’t left his head since the morning. 

“Tom,” Chris muttered quietly. Then he started to weep. Tom looked up, distancing himself a bit from the embrace but still holding on. Tom was startled to see Chris weep and felt lousy about always having been the one to want and need the comforting. Clearly, Chris didn’t have the better end of the stick. Realizing his naivete, Tom reached his hands up to grab Chris’s face and kissed his tears.  
“Oh Chris…”  
“Three of my kids were taken. From my fucking classroom. They came… They came and they…” Chris couldn’t continue as his tears choked him. Tom held him tighter and they wept together. 

Chris was going to keep his promise. He was going to come for those children and all the rest who were taken. Justice was in his blood; he could not sit idly as more children and professors were taken by the Soldiers. If he had to, he would kill all of the Soldiers to get them back.

But he also knew that Tom wanted to leave. He knew that Tom wanted to rescue his family members and flee with them, and also with Chris, to where Nefario couldn’t reach them. Chris would not flee. There was no way. However, inevitably, if Tom were to leave and never come back, they would never be able to see each other again. And that hurt Chris. 

Chris had grown to care for Tom very much. They were at that tipping point, where the word ‘love’ could possibly be used to describe the deep affection they felt for each other. At least that’s how Chris felt, and he hoped Tom felt the same way too. 

He only regretted that they were not in a peaceful time, that Tom was as hurt and traumatized as he is, and that they could not love freely and without worry. Sneaky visits and outings in disguise just weren’t enough. He wondered how it would be, were Tom to use his magical beast knowledge and teach at Hogwarts. They could share quarters -- other married professors do that. They could summer at Godric’s Hollow or travel to the far corners of the world. Maybe Chris could meet Tom’s family, and Tom’s family could meet his. His family would surely love Tom. Tom was gentle and kind, enigmatic and beautiful.  
Chris’s thoughts returned to reality as his ears began ringing once again with the screams of his students. 

“Tom, I’m going to stay and fight,” he said. Their eyes met, and Tom nodded. Tom didn’t expect any less of Chris. There was uncertainty in the way that Chris looked at Tom as he said that, and that pained Tom. Then Tom knew for sure.

He would not allow Nefario to destroy all of the good that existed in this world. He couldn’t run while his father destroyed everything and everyone he ever loved. He’d ignored the pain of his own mother and sisters while he lived a life of a hermit as a Muggle in London, pretending nothing was wrong in this world other than his own pain. He’d ignored that Nefario continued to accumulate power and used it to hurt the world he loved more dearly than anything and the people inside it. If he ever conquers the magical world, Tom knew for sure that Nefario would extend his campaign to slaughter Muggles. No, Tom wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

And he certainly wasn’t going to let Nefario destroy the man Tom had come to love after a long stretch of lovelessness, solitude and despair. 

“I’m going to fight with you,” Tom said. 

Tom and Chris looked at each other. And the emotions just bursted out of the both of them. “I love you,” Chris said. Tom reciprocated. Their lips met, the kiss so wet from all the tears shed.


	12. Order of Phoenix

Aberforth, as usual, didn’t ask questions when Chris brought Tom over to be taken through the passage into the castle. He felt as though he recognized the thinner man with dark hair, but didn’t think too much about it. It was better that way, he thought, though he reckoned they were up to something. 

Aberforth had grown old, his beard a little whiter and hair falling out rather rapidly. His voice deepened some more in the last 13 years. Those years have been mostly peaceful until recently. He felt the same sickening feeling he did when Voldemort rose to power… 

The reason he felt solace in the stranger’s presence and believed him -- Tom -- to be good in the end was because in him, he saw his brother, Albus. There was deep capacity for evil, but he chose differently. He saw pain, resentment, regret but above all else, hope. Whatever he and the Professor were up to, Aberforth believed it was going to be for the better.

Back in Chris’s quarters, Tom and Chris were deeply engaged in plotting their next steps. They weren’t sure what the end goal was. Was it to kill Nefario? Neither had thought that far yet. First, the main mission was to gather up all students and send them back home with someone they could trust, someone who could protect them. Then they’d fight the Soldiers.

And that only meant one thing: resurgence of the Order of Phoenix. 

Chris knew just who to ask. Even to foreigners, the Order of Phoenix was famous.Soon, Neville Longbottom joined them in Chris’s quarters. Then came three more Professors and a handful of seventh year students who weren’t in danger of being taken by the Soldiers. Neville was to summon the members of the previous order, who had already been conspiring on their own to form a plan to overthrow Nefario. The three friends who have become legends in their own right, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were also on their way to Hogwarts. 

“It’s crucial that we don’t make any sudden moves until more help arrives,” Neville said, as he gave a knowing look to Chris. He knew Chris was ready to start throwing curses at those Soldiers now, but it was not the right time. They needed Harry, Ron and Hermione.

It was incredibly clever of Nefario to have them sent on missions abroad. After Voldemort, with those three at the Ministry, no one thought another evil would rise. But they thought wrong, obviously. Nefario had somehow convinced them that he was harmless, which is turning out to be very untrue. Harry was undercover in America, trying to neutralize a foreign threat that Nefario had convinced him was true. Hermione and Ron, on the other hand, were in Australia on a diplomatic mission. Each of them was notified of Nefario’s rising power, but didn’t quite realize how imminent the threat he posed to the magical world was.

Sitting in a circle, fireplace going, sound of wood chipping, baby phoenix Munchkins making grumbly noises every now and then. One of the professors, Elvira Scroge, passed around hot mugs that each looked different and people grabbing them. Neville looked deep in thought and the students, brave but also petrified. 

“This will not end unless Nefario dies,” said Professor Flitwick. He wasn’t usually one to advocate for violence. He loved choral music and creating beauty with magic, not killing. For him to have said that meant something. Everyone, except for Tom, nodded. 

Tom couldn’t help but put a horrified look on his face. ‘Nefario dies,’ his mind kept saying. Tom’s father had to die. Chris watched him carefully and opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but shut it back up. 

Even with all the years of emotional and physical torture Nefario had inflicted on him, Tom had trouble coming to terms with the prospect of his parent dying. Sure, he’d killed his father more than a dozen times in his head. But this was for real now. He really had to die. Tom felt his guts churn. 

There was a plan now. Each member was tasked with something. Neville would set up a temporary headquarters at his home in Godric’s Hollow. The students were tasked with quietly letting their House mates know the rendezvous points where Portkeys would be set up to take them elsewhere. They were specifically instructed to make sure nobody packs up. Everyone would have to carry on as though things were normal for this to work. The Professors would arrange the Portkeys and their locations.

Chris and Tom were going to rescue Tom’s family and transport them to one of the safe gathering spots. 

And when all or most are in safe locations, the Order would reunite at the Ministry and face Nefario and his Soldiers head on. That would be the true end of Nefario and his campaign of destruction. 

Chris shut the door behind Neville, who was the last one, except for Tom, to leave his quarters after the meeting adjourned. When he turned around, he found Tom sitting exactly at the same spot, staring at the wall blankly. Tom was clearly troubled. Chris quietly sat himself down next to him and cradled him closer.

“Baby,” Chris said gently. Then Tom snapped out of his thoughts and looked back at him.   
“Emma… we need to let Emma know,” Tom said.  
“Of course. We’ll send her an owl,” Chris replied. 

Yes, they’d send an owl to Emma. It occurred to Chris that he knew basically nothing about her, though. Sure he knew Emma was one of his sisters, but not so much more than that. He also knew nothing about this terrible father, nor Tom’s mother who apparently likes to knit. The other sister, Chris knew, lived in Asia. He also knew that Tom’s mother and two sisters were in incredible danger because of Nefario, but he didn’t even know why. 

He’d told Tom all about Luke and Liam, mum and dad. Hell, he’d told Tom about everyone in his entire family tree. 

“If we’re going to do this, I need to know more about you, Tom,” Chris said with a serious look on his face. He’d actually thought about this for a while, but hadn’t had the courage to bring it up until now. “We are in this together.”

Tom froze. His brain began scanning for some sort of excuse, but his heart also told him he owed Chris some degree of truth. They couldn’t carry on like this, Tom knew, where Tom got upset and startled easily and Chris comforted him without asking too many questions.

But truth was too hard to swallow, and even harder to tell.

“My mum… She resisted Nefario for a long time. He targeted her for it,” Tom lied, trying not to choke while doing it. “He hunted her down, imprisoned her, imprisoned all of us.” That was technically the truth. Tom continued to tell a false story that sometimes told technical truths and kept facts very vague. He kept talking mostly to keep Chris from asking more questions, desperately hoping to find a way to smoothly change the subject. 

“And your father?” Chris asked, and Tom bit his lips as he replied, “You know… Dead beat father sort of thing. Just a horrible person…”

He knew Chris deserved the truth. The lying had nothing to do with Chris’s right to know, but rather, Tom’s own insecurity. He still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Nefario was James Hiddleston, his father. Probably drunk and dead somewhere, Tom added. He felt horrible about lying, even more horrible that he had little control over his own mouth spewing out lies. 

“Chris… I think it’s best that I go get mum alone,” Tom said.   
“Why?” Chris asked, frowning. 

It was going to be dangerous, Tom told him. But the bigger reason was that Chris would see his childhood home, where egotistical, gigantic portraits of Nefario were everywhere. He knew Chris would have to know sooner or later, but a part of Tom never wanted Chris to know that he is the offspring of the biggest evil there is. 

“I don’t care, Tom. We’re in this together. Your mum… She could be my family too. You know, maybe one day if we… err.. I mean to say, when all of this is over…” Chris didn’t finish his sentence, but Tom knew.


End file.
